


A Failure To Communicate

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Mostly Gen, Pre-Slash, Spoilers MAG 124, poor communication, will be Jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: "Jon needs to reach Martin, somehow get past the void Peter Lukas has placed between them. Something in him is terribly sure that if he can just get Martin back, things will somehow be okay."Jon tries to make contact.





	A Failure To Communicate

**Author's Note:**

> This was birthed from the fact that I can’t stop thinking about what a hypocrite Jon is being right now with his “why won't anyone TALK to me?” schtick. Like, you basically spent three seasons not talking to anyone about anything, Jon! Also I just really want Martin to have some agency in his current situation rather than being a pawn in a power struggle between Peter Lukas and Jon. I know the chances of that are slim, but I live in hope.

Jon thinks this might be what the end of his rope feels like. He’s sleeping on a lumpy camp bed in the Archives, too afraid to go back to his flat because every monster in London would love the opportunity to kill a servant of the Beholding. Even more afraid that when he turns entirely into a monster himself, he won’t notice. Nobody will _talk_ to him, Melanie won’t even be in the same room and Basira is a wall of polite blankness. And Martin is just...gone.

Jon doesn’t see him in the Archives again, after that first time. He’s not sure if it’s coincidence, or if Martin is making a concerted effort to avoid him, but either way he feels the absence like a tooth cavity, painful and impossible to ignore. Once or twice he thinks he sees the back of Martin’s head out in the corridor, or hears the familiar rhythm of his footfall, but by the time he rushes outside there’s nobody there. He goes back to his office feeling dispirited and not a little foolish. 

It’s Lukas, he knows. The man has some hold over Martin, which he’s using to isolate him from everyone else. It’s what the Lukases do best. They’re all experiencing it to some extent. Barricaded in the Archives like soldiers in the trenches, nominally together but entirely alone. Even the rest of the Institute are feeling it, departments segregated from each other, everyone afraid to say anything for fear of, as Basira said, _whooosh_. It’s worst with Martin, though, because Martin has always been there for him - for them all - offering help and support and mugs of tea, and now he isn’t, and the Archives feel terribly lonely. 

Jon needs to reach Martin, somehow get past the void Peter Lukas has placed between them. Something in him is terribly sure that if he can just get Martin back, things will somehow be okay. He doesn’t examine that feeling too closely, because part of him is afraid it may be wishful thinking. He just knows he needs to do _something_.

His second week back he gives up on trying to ambush Martin, and decides to try more direct methods. He sends Martin a text message reading:  _Are you in the office?_ Gets no response, though he can see the message has been read. Another text: _Can we talk?_ and then: _Are you okay?_ He finally gets an answer to that one, two words: _Fine. Busy._ And that’s it.  

__

He tries physical communiqués, because maybe Lukas is monitoring Martin’s electronic devices. He leaves a sticky note on Martin’s computer monitor reading _Come to my office when you have a moment_ , and sees it later crumpled up in Martin’s wastepaper basket. Did Martin do that, or was it removed before he could see it? He writes a longer note: I don’t know what Lukas is threatening you with, but please talk to me. We can think of something. He signs it “Jonathan S.”. Looks at if for a few moments, then tears it up and rewrites the entire note, signs it “J”. Considers again, and finally extends that to “Jon”. He folds the paper up and slips it into Martin’s locked desk drawer, where nobody else should be able to get at it.

__

He waits for any response, any sign that Martin’s received his message. Nothing. Either Lukas is intercepting his attempts, or he’s somehow preventing Martin from responding. _Or_ , a small voice in the back of Jon’s head says, _He just doesn’t want to talk to you._ He dismisses that thought without mercy. That can’t be it, because that would mean there’s nothing Jon can do about it, and he can’t accept that.

__

Jon just needs to be smarter about this. He starts investigating codes and ciphers, substitutions and transpositions and military encryption methods. Most of them are either far too simple or far too complex, and all of them are far too obviously hiding information. At last he settles on a book cipher, something intended to be concealed in plain sight, and spends days identifying a poetry book with varied enough language to be useful.

__

He leaves a copy of the book on Martin’s desk, and slips the first coded note into the pocket of Martin’s coat, which still sits on the back of his chair most days. It translates to: _we can talk like this nobody will know please answer._ Jon can only hope Martin figures it out.

__

The next day, the book of poetry is sitting on his own desk when he gets into the office. Jon looks at it, his heart sinking. Whether or not Martin figured out the code, the return message is painfully clear. He spends most of the morning flipping through the book, reading snippets to himself. 

__

Jon’s never really _gotten_ poetry. He prefers to communicate in more straightforward terms, but Martin likes it. Martin cares about people’s feelings, even lovelorn poets he’s never met, and Martin thinks the way you relay your thoughts is important. He had tried to explain it to Jon once, that poetry is just as much about _how_ you say something as what you’re saying, and Jon had dismissed it as a pretty poor way of conveying information. He had, in hindsight, been rather an arse about it, and Martin hasn’t brought up poetry around him since. 

__

The poems in this collection are modern, written in austere language, cryptic and terse. It occurs to Jon that he has no idea if Martin even enjoys this style of poetry. When you get down to it, Jon doesn’t really know that much about Martin at all, and most of it he’s learned second hand, through his own snooping and Elias’ cruelty. Martin likes poetry, of some sort. Martin thinks that tea is, if not an actual solution, then at least a balm for most of life’s problems. Martin has a sick mother who never writes back to him, and an absent father who he looks just like. Martin has - _had_...feelings for Jon, which Jon has been trying and miserably failing not to think about since he listened to that tape his first week back. It feels like a horrible invasion of privacy, even though Martin had known he would hear it and chose to confront Elias anyway. It still doesn't feel right to have discovered it like that. And besides, that was six months ago, things are clearly very different now. No point dwelling on it. 

__

Jon knows that he should let this go. Martin’s said he’s fine. Martin’s ignored his notes and returned his book. He can’t let it go, though, not without at least talking to Martin properly. Not without making sure he’s really okay. 

__

Jon has never been to Martin’s flat. Even after Jane Prentiss had been there, he’d sent Sasha to collect any outstanding evidence. He hadn’t been bothered to go himself, to see where Martin had been trapped alone and afraid for two weeks. It hadn’t seemed important, because Martin was fine, and there were other things to worry about, with Prentiss still out there. 

__

Now he stands outside the door to number six, his heart racing as if he’s walking in front of a firing squad. He doesn’t even know if Martin is staying at his flat, if the Lonely is affording him any more protection than the rest of them. Even if he is, he might not be home, and Jon probably shouldn’t intrude on him anyway, this was a terrible idea. 

__

He knocks firmly on the door before he can talk himself out of it entirely.

__

It takes a few moments for the door to open, just a crack. Martin is looking out through the gap at him, his expression surprised and cautious.

__

“Jon,” he says, “What are you doing here?” 

__

“I, uh, I needed to talk to you,” Jon says. He hadn’t actually thought this far, and has no idea what to say. 

__

“It’s...really not a good time,” Martin says in a pained voice. “I’m very - ”

__

“Busy, yes I know,” says Jon. “ _Please_ Martin. It’s important.” 

__

Martin considers for a moment, then sighs and opens the door fully.

__

“All right, come in.”

__

Jon steps inside the flat, which is small but cheery. A large, squashy looking couch dominates the living space, the coffee table stacked with books and files. There are a few framed landscape photographs on the walls.

__

“So,” says Martin. “What did you need?”

__

Jon flails internally for a moment. What _does_ he need? For Martin to tell him what’s going on, what Peter Lukas is doing to him? For things to go back to how they were, in the old days? For an assurance that Martin still - still _cares_ about him, in some way? He’s...not sure. 

__

“I was worried,” he says finally. “I - we haven’t spoken since I got back, except for that once, and I thought maybe something was wrong, with Peter Lukas running the Institute and everything.”

__

“Right,” Martin nods. “Well, I’m fine. I appreciate the concern, but there’s no need. I’ve just had a lot on.”

__

“Exactly, _that_ ,” Jon says, frustrated. “You keep saying you’re busy, but you won’t tell anyone what it is you’re actually _doing_. What Lukas has to do with it all. Why won’t you just talk to us? Maybe we can help!”

__

Martin actually laughs at that, although he doesn't sound very amused. 

__

“Really, Jon?” he says. “You of all people are concerned about someone not telling everyone what they’re doing? That’s a bit rich, don’t you think?”

__

“That was different,” Jon protests. He was trying to save the _world_ , and he hadn't known who he could trust, after they found Gertrude's body. 

__

“Why, because you’re Jonathan Sims, _the Archivist?_ That makes it okay for you to spend weeks and months traveling without telling anyone where you’re going, working in secret on who knows what? But everyone else should tell you everything they’re doing, because you _deserve_ to know. Is that it?”

__

Martin’s tone is acid, his arms folded across his chest defensively. Jon shakes his head. This is getting away from him, he had just wanted to make sure Martin was okay, to try and - and make some sort of _connection_ , and he’s messed it all up already. 

__

“I just - I’ve been gone for six months, Martin. I didn’t mean to be, and I’m sorry, but nobody will _talk_ to me. How am I supposed to - to _help_ , when I don’t even know what’s going on with you? And with Basira, and Melanie?”

__

“Did it occur to you that maybe we don’t need your help?” Martin snaps. “Like you said, Jon, you were gone for six months. We all had to adapt, in order to survive. I had to, and I figured it out. I spent so long - ” His voice breaks, and he looks away from Jon, at the floor. He takes a deep breath, and continues:

__

“I’m sorry if you thought you’d come back and I’d be sitting around on my hands waiting to make you a cup of tea, but that wasn’t exactly an option.” 

__

“No, that’s not what I thought,” says Jon. His stomach is in his shoes, this has all gone so terribly wrong. “Of course not. I just thought, well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

__

Martin’s expression is still angry, but it’s tinged with sadness now. He looks suddenly tired. 

__

“I don’t know Jon, are we? How things are right now, this is _exactly_ how they were before, except back then it was you running around in secret, and me wondering if you were okay. Does this feel like friendship to you?”

__

That hits like a punch to the gut. Jon can’t breathe for a moment, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself in knots. His legs feel like they’re not quite up to the task of holding his weight.

__

“I’m - I’m sorry,” he says at last. “You’re right. I have no right to demand anything from you. I just didn’t know what to think, when I found out you were working with Peter Lukas. I thought - I was afraid he’d done something to you. Threatened you, or hurt you. If that’s not the case, then...I’m glad.”

__

Martin gives a long, shaky sigh, arms still folded around himself. He looks around.

__

“Wait here,” he says, then turns and walks through another door - a bedroom or bathroom, Jon assumes - and closes it behind him. Jon hears a faint staticky whine, and glances around, but there’s nothing strange apparent. A minute or two pass, and he hears that static sound again.

__

“Sorry about that,” says Martin from directly behind him. Jon whirls, startled, how did - 

__

“Had to make sure nobody was - well, never mind,” Martin tells him. “What I said, that was...unfair of me. I’m sorry. But you have to understand. Peter is the only thing that’s kept the Institute even marginally safe for the last six months. I don’t trust him, but I’ve learned to deal with him. And what I’m working on - I just can’t tell you, not right now. I will, I promise, but not yet. You’re the _Archivist_. How do I know a tape recorder hasn’t just...spawned somewhere in my flat and started recording us? I can’t risk that. I need you to trust me, for now. Trust that I won’t do anything to hurt Melanie or Basira or - or you.” 

__

He looks directly at Jon as he says it, and his eyes are wide and sincere. Jon feels a deep swell of emotion go through him, something he can’t quite categorize. It's painful and warming all at once. Trusting people isn't something that comes easily to him. He doesn't give up control easily, or accept the unknown. But Martin is asking him to, and Jon thinks he owes Martin that, after everything. He needs to trust Martin, if he wants Martin to trust him ever again.

__

“I - yes,” he says. “All right. But please, Martin, if you need me - if I can help, _please_ talk to me. Don’t make the same stupid mistakes I did.”

__

“Don’t worry,” Martin says, giving him a small, wobbly smile. “I don’t think I could make as many mistakes as you if I tried. You’re kind of an expert.”

__

Jon gives a relieved half laugh, because if Martin can make fun of him, maybe that means things will be okay. Maybe he hasn’t lost Martin entirely. Martin walks him to the door, and opens it. Jon starts to step through, then hesitates.

__

“Can we...talk, once in a while?” he asks. “There are a few cases I’d like to discuss with you. Get some ideas.”

__

Martin gives another small smile, this one a little brighter. 

__

“Text me if you need me,” he says. “I’ll - try my best to be around. And please don’t leave any more dramatic notes or poetry books on my desk, it looks like you’re trying to woo me or something.”

__

Jon flushes with embarrassment, because right, it hadn’t occurred to him how that might look. It probably should have, all things considered, but he’s never exactly been quick on the uptake when it comes to these things. He considers explaining about the cipher, but that’s somehow even more embarrassing.

__

“Right,” he says. “I’ll, uh, see you in the Archives, then?”

__

“See you, Jon,” Martin says, and shuts the door.

__

Martin’s coat is already over the back of his chair the next morning when Jon emerges from the side room where he’s been sleeping. He goes into the Archives’ small kitchenette to make tea. Hesitates for a few moments, then makes a second cup, in the striped mug he’s often seen Martin use. Adds a splash of milk to both mugs, then sets the striped one down on Martin’s desk, and retreats to his office with his own tea.

__

When he walks past later that morning, the mug is still sitting on the desk, only a small amount of cold tea still sloshing in the bottom. Attached to it is a post it note that reads: _2 sugars please - M._

__

Jon smiles, and adds that to the list of things he knows about Martin. 

__


End file.
